Devil's Game (Reapers MC, #3)(102)

“We?” I asked.

“Soldier,” he muttered, his words slurred. “Called himself Sam, don’t know who he really is. He came with the boss, maybe.”

“White?”

“Sí. American.”

“Who was shooting at the truck?”

“Sam shot the tires,” he said. “Then he told me to kill the people in the truck and he disappeared. I don’t know where he went.”

“Do you know anything about the other shootings?”

“I was down south until last week, when they sent me here,” he said. “Nothing to do with any of this. Are you going to kill me?”

I glanced at Picnic. His face was blank.

“Burke will want to talk to him, if you’re willing,” I said. “This isn’t just about your club—the Jacks need all the information we can get, too.”

“Holding him for a couple days is no problem,” Ruger said. He pinned me with a hard stare. “We have plenty of room down here, could keep someone prisoner forever, if we wanted to.”

I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the bloody pawn sitting in the chair.

“Take him out and get him cleaned up,” Picnic said to Horse. The big man stepped forward, nodding to one of the others I didn’t know. Together they lifted the man—chair and all—and carried him out of the room. I looked down at the blood on the concrete, considering my own situation.

Fuck it. Now was as good a time as any to play this through.

“I’d appreciate it if you could give Burke a call,” I said to Picnic. “I’m fresh out of phones.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. He turned to leave, but I caught his arm. Ruger stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again. Yeah, I get it. You’re gonna protect the prez, kill me with your bare hands, et cetera … So f*cking predictable.

“We need to talk,” I said. “Might as well get it over with. Can’t do it in front of Em.”

“No offense, but you’re not my favorite person,” Pic replied, narrowing his eyes. “Just because we called you in to witness for your club doesn’t mean I feel like chatting. Better be damned important.”

“I think it is. I figure you’ve spent a fair amount of time and energy considering different ways to kill me over the past couple months?”

Pic gave a harsh laugh, nodding.

“You would, too, in my shoes.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I said. “Here’s the thing … I don’t want to spend the next twenty years waiting for you to shoot me in the back. I love your daughter and I won’t give up on her, so if that’s a deal breaker, you should kill me now. Otherwise you need to back the f*ck off me and my old lady.”

That caught his attention.

Picnic studied me. I waited for him to say something, but Ruger stepped forward, his face cold and tight.

“Let’s put him in the ground,” he said. “Sophie went through hell because of this *. I nearly lost her.”

I held Hayes’s eyes, ignoring the other man. This was about me and Pic, about determining—once and for all—whether he could tolerate me as Em’s man. I raised my hands, palms empty, and turned around so my back was to him.

“I’m ready,” I said. “Go ahead and do it. Good timing, too—you can say the cartel got me. She’ll never know the truth, and neither will my club.”

“Why?” Pic asked.

“Because she deserves a man with a future,” I said, stretching my neck to one side. Already getting sore from the accident. “I want that man to be me. I love her and I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe and happy. But I’m a realist, too. If the Reapers are determined to kill me, I’m dead already. Might take you a while to make your move, which means it’ll hurt her even more when it finally happens. I’d rather end it now than set her up for something worse down the line.”


They stayed silent behind me. I wasn’t stupid—the timing wasn’t perfect. A smarter man wouldn’t have pushed, but if Pic planned to do it, he might as well get it over with. We needed to get out from under this shadow or it would eat us alive.

“I should shoot you,” Pic said slowly. “Because you know what? I think you’re gonna hurt her. You won’t mean to do it, but it’ll happen and then I’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

That wasn’t promising. I braced myself, waiting for a bullet. Would he do it fast, or drag it out?

“Turn around.”

I swiveled to find him closing in on me, fists clenched. I tried to force myself to relax as the first punch caught my face, to roll with it. Pain exploded through me, radiating out from my cheekbone. A second hit came from another direction, and I realized Ruger had joined in on the action.

Just what I needed …

I lost all sense of time after that. At some point I fell to the ground, which made it easier for them to kick me. I handled it pretty well, I think, considering my entire body had turned into one great raging wave of agonized torture. I managed not to scream, although I couldn’t stop myself from moaning when someone got in a particularly good shot. By this point I hurt so much I figured it couldn’t get much worse.